Well hello again you lovely dA deviants! Been a long time, hasn't it? I'm laughing now when I read back my last journal entry - apparently I was shortly thereafter *not* here anymore.
When I used to be active here, I was literally a teenager. A little embarrassing now, but impressive for how much I loved the dA community and how much I wanted to be engaged. Well, obviously a lot has happened since then, and I've learned a lot about writing and about life. The funny thing is, I keep yearning for the way I used to write as a teenager.
It felt like the golden age of my work. Even though I'm now accomplishing dreams from that time, I remember how easily writing came to me and how fearless I was to share it online. I think that had a lot to do with my many supportive friends and themed writing groups here on dA. I have felt like something was missing from my writing life, so I'm coming back over here to find that secret sauce.
One thing I'd like to announce to you all is that my first book is coming out this year! Stay tuned for more updates and how to pre-order.
But I'm a big believer in giving more than you take, so I'm going to spend my time back on this website discovering more writers and digging in to the community. If you've been following me all this time and you're still active, I would love to chat and find out what your life is like! And if you're a new friend and you happen to see this post, thanks for coming along on this journey with me!
Forgiveness EconomicsGenesis
But for the small purple stain on its border, the banknote was non-descript.
It had a value but men value things in different ways and by different means. It had a value, but its value is not it's story.
It landed on the church plate face up, coming to rest softly on the flat silver base amongst the loose change like it was tossed to the cloth of a gambling table, soundless but with a small sense of resignation. A man paying for luck, a man asking his God for a favor.
It came from the wallet of a small sad man, who feared the Good Lord daily. The banknote was the weekly price of his penance, the bill of sale for those half-remembered crimes of a misspent youth and other things unmentionable.
The small sad man's hands were fat and white and callouses sat on his thumb and forefingers, the scars of a bank teller, a money counter, a man who knew about value. The hair on his head was grey and his eyes were blue below his wrinkled forehead and tonight would be the last time he
Star Dust.When Pop died, he'd already put his last affairs in order. The money was divided up equally among his six children, (most of) the jewellery was donated at his request and the house was to be sold to repay his final debts. We each got something by the end of it.
"To Anjulie, I leave one of my most prized possessions." Though Tante Doralee read the will, I heard it in Pop's crinkled voice, smelling the words as the smoke of his cigars. "The bullet they pulled from my chest; I added the chain so I could carry it with me as a reminder of the horrors I've survived. Take it with you to the furthest reaches you travel, as I know you're headed for the stars."
He didn't know I literally was, and at the time, neither did I. Doralee dropped the piece into my open hand, adding under her breath, "If you ever lose this, no one will forgive you."
I wore it through my training in the Air Force, and I kept it around my neck when I test-f